Monday, December 17, 2012

The New York Times and the Huffington Post are already
calling attention to parallels between attacks on school children last Friday,
December 14, in both the United States and China. Comments following these
articles show that readers follow suit and agree: Parallels are too close to
ignore.

Furthermore, these reports of nearly simultaneous events
half a globe apart point to Apocalypse Fever, which the Chinese term “Doomsday
Rumors.” In America, this frenzy takes a specific form: the Survivalist Movement,
or “preppers,” as one of Nancy Lanza’s relatives called enthusiasts.

The
UK Telegraph outlines this influence in this report: “Connecticut school
shooting: Adam Lanza’s mother was preparing for disaster,” by Jon Swaine in
Connecticut and Peter Foster in Washington, and published on December 16, 2012.
Swaine and Foster summarize:

“The
mother of the gunman who killed 20 children and seven adults in America’s worst
school massacre, was a gun-proud ‘survivalist’ preparing for economic collapse,
it has emerged. Nancy Lanza…was part of the “prepper movement, which urges
readiness for social chaos by hoarding supplies and training with weapons.”

Is
it too soon to request that Survivalists need to take extraordinary care with
their activities around children and teenagers? The Apocalypse is a subject for
study among biblical scholars who research the complex meanings of the book of
Revelation. Interpretations include predicting the past, historical analysis of
Roman emperors, and symbolic visions enshrined in unforgettable poetry.

Current
fury over the Mayan Calendar’s cycles needs to surrender to objective analysis.
The West has seen too many Doomsdays come and go for educated readers to join
the fray. Journalists also need to demonstrate responsibility by refraining
from whooping up hysteria, which children and teenagers do not need. Children
need stability and reassurance that love remains constant. Shakespeare said it
best in Sonnet 116:

“O
no, it [love] is an ever-fixed mark/That looks on tempests and is never shaken;/
It is the star to every wand’ring bark.” (lines 5-7)

Considering
the meaning and wisdom of these lines provides far better entertainment than
violent video games. Time spent on the masterpieces of English communication
also stretches imaginations into the realms of philosophy and history, where
children can become lost safely. All involved need to keep close to their
hearts that ancient slogan: Monkey see, Monkey do. Evolutionists can verify
that children will imitate their relatives—if we let them.

Thursday, December 13, 2012

A lack of snow in Western New York State reveals the adaptation
which already becomes necessary for residents. If New York was ever the Empire
State, snow seemed the breath of God, raging for half of every year here.

Now that breath appears occasionally as mist when cool air
creeps over the warm earth. It comes and goes as Empires do. If a hole has developed
in the ozone layer high above this earth, it could hardly be more daunting than
confronting a landscape without its weather.

This area was history on the hillside every year. Just as the
glaciers once withdrew from this state, dragging their bodies with long
fingers, so every spring saw the heavy-weight snowfall withdraw again,
releasing human kind and unkind from a beautiful white prison.

Tobogganing allowed that prison to become a playground for
children and sprites of every age. The Cassadaga Country Club transformed its
golf course into a slick run. There, adolescent boys steered those toboggans so
that the girls, riding in front, of course, would feel a whole mountain of snow
fall upon them—as the boys drove straight for the drifts, and shrieked with
laughter.

As the lakes in this region froze and refroze, creating Olympic
quality ice-rinks, whole villages gathered on ice-skates, looping like birds on
the loose. Those who clung to hearth and home on such occasions could look out
their windows and view Currier and Ives paintings come to life, and know Art
was as real as their eyes.

Now, the parkas hang in the closet, along with the hand-knit
sweaters, the long underwear, the ski-hats, mittens, and leather boots. Frost
bite claims no victims. Nobody complains about chill-blains, or races to the
fireplace to snuggle together over hot cocoa. Cars race by as they would in
June or July. The year has lost its rhythm.

If this apparent climate change continues, all the songs and
poetry dedicated to a Winter Wonder-Land will lose their meaning for future residents.
Modern realistic paintings portraying white landscapes here will be as distant
from understanding as Bruegel’s “Hunters Returning Home,” evidence of a time
when people went over cliffs without knowing why.

So, now at least we know why people once did rain dances: It wasn’t just for the crops. It was for visions
which were real once upon a time.

While CNN covered Susan Rice and “The Real Women of the CIA” on
121312, China Daily published this
report on 121212: “Chinese robot wars set to erupt,” by He Wei. This author
quotes a robotics entrepreneur, as he summarizes recent developments in the
Chinese robotics industry:

“Sun Zhiqiang says the timing of China’s robot spree is perfect
for his business. As managing director of Risong Group, an automation company
in Guangzhou, Guangsong province that provides robotic systems, Sun’s company
has cashed in on the robotics boom during the past two years. Although he
declined to provide details, Sun revealed that the company is making almost 20
times the revenue it did when the business started 15 years ago. “

In short, if Hollywood could get off its Transformers kick, it
might make horror films shouting: “The Robots Are Coming! The Robots Are
Coming! The Robots Are Coming!”

These afterthoughts should accompany Wei’s announcement, which his
article amply supports: Robots work more cheaply than humans. They’re never
late. They don’t need health insurance, and they don’t expect day care for
their offspring. They also show no interest in equality of any kind; in the
labor market, robots are on the rise, and they provide the closest
approximation of perfect slave labor which the world has ever known.

It’s critical to realize that Wei is not spouting science
fiction. His data not only supports his claims, but it should give union
leaders a nervous breakdown.

Wei already can report: “Given the context, it’s easy to
calculate the tradeoffs of getting a robot. ‘In fact, industrial robots are
already cheaper than workers in China’s eastern regions,’ said Wang Tianmiao,
who heads the expert panel of robot technology under the State High-Tech
Development Plan. “

Now, claims that training in technology will prepare workers for
the jobs of tomorrow should also come under severe scrutiny. No matter how fast
workers prepare for the so-called jobs of the future, how can they compete with
a machine, once technology has fast-tracked human labor to the junk pile? The
truth remains: Humans cannot out-robot a robot.

Modern history reveals that slave labor has never gone

out of
business. The Third Reich’s attempt to reduce Jews to slaves needs no repeating. More
recent reports scandalized the world with stories of child laborers slaving for
a pittance. China has been in the forefront of these developments, creating
whole cities just for massive colonies of workers doomed to slave until they
rioted for relief. The United States of America may like to believe that
slavery is a political party issue, but robots labor under no such assumption.

Critical thinking requires restating the obvious, perhaps.
Robots do not need people to be kind, to empathize, or to speechify on justice.
But if people cannot work as efficiently and cheaply as robots, what can they
do to justify their existence, and secure their place in cultures which are
mechanized from top to bottom? Warnings that robots would replace human workers
have been shrugged off as hysteria in the past. The latest news from China says
otherwise.

Elders might advise: You’ve made your bed. Now lie in it. But
the issue now becomes: When a robot makes your bed, who lies in it? Even poor
Goldilocks might wish for bears to be her problem again.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Family remains uppermost in the plot-lines of NCIS. No question
exists here about who wears the pants, or who makes the decisions.
Simultaneously, women integrate successfully with men, catching criminals and
abiding by the same regulations of the US Navy. So, does it take a military
organization to cut the nonsense and cut to the chase, too? Or do viewers just
enjoy a first-rate fantasy, no matter their registration?

The major theme of the show is reinforced every time Gibbs gives
Abby a hug, every time he defends Ziva, clips DiNozzo with a love-pat, and
praises Timmy for his MIT expertise. Regularly, Gibbs returns to his basement
workshop, just like a Father Knows Best from the fifties, to work out his
frustration in private. He faithfully keeps his cool while negotiating with his
new female director (and old girlfriend) just like a responsible parent sharing
marital responsibilities for children who perennially need a little growing up.

Yes, Gibbs carries the burden of divorces in his past, but he
always saves times to send a child a message: We’re here, buddy, and never
forget it. The family theme reaches an apex, however, every time Gibbs’ own
script dad turns up. Then, one dad stands right beside another: The famous
father figure from the show on surviving hard times during the Great
Depression, The Waltons. As Jackson Gibbs, Ralph Waite even carries the same
mournful profile. But as Jethro, Mark Harmon even mentors a writer, just like
his script dad. So, while the one show circles into the other, each production
pays tribute to those who do not forget.

As fathers go, the two men stay on mission, come hard times,
terrorism, or grief. The ship of state stays in the basement. The women know
where the men are—and that problems resolve within the hour. If only the US
Congress could get this discipline into their system, there just might be more
than People’s Choice Awards to celebrate.

“Foreigners to get key rights,” by Chen
Xin, states: “Foreigners who obtain permanent residency will
have the same pension, employment and property rights as Chinese citizens,
under new regulations announced on Tuesday.

Access
to schools for their children will also be on par with Chinese citizens[,] the
rules endorsed by central government departments in September state.”

This
article concludes with the most tantalizing comments of all:

'If
a green card does not bring other basic rights such as employment, pension and
children's education, it will not be attractive and will not help introduce
global talent,' he said. 'The new regulation will help foreigners
have a sense of security….

'Now
they can obtain economic and social rights as Chinese citizens do[;] they may ask
for political rights if they live in the country for long,' Liu [Liu
Guofu, an immigration law specialist at the Beijing Institute of Technology] said.”

The
key words here may be “global talent.” If Americans assume they monopolize the international talent pool in technology, or on any other front, they now know that Chinese
officials share no such assumption. Indeed, they appear willing to negotiate on
the international scene for the best and the brightest.

The
final comments in this article would shock Richard Nixon right out of his Watergate
blues. What did he start, with his insistence on opening China to the world—and
where will it end?

The American educational systems are in turmoil, too, and
nobody is paying more attention to uproars in the United States, it appears,
than people half way across the globe, who may spend more time catching up with
the American media than US citizens do. Of course, rules are one matter.
Invitations are another.

The cover of
this children’s book shows exotic travelers winding in an arc which leads to
opening this slender volume. The reader’s hand then forms a natural movement,
swooping to join the search for the book’s subtitle: An Adventure on the Silk Road. This delightful creation reminds
both adults and youngsters: Animals accompanied every step of humans as they
swarmed to explore this rocky planet Earth.

The author,
Sandra Markle, and illustrator, Daniela Jaglenka Terrazzini, have produced the
Explorers Series, which also includes Animals
Charles Darwin Saw: An Around-the-World Adventure; Animals Christopher Columbus Saw: An Adventure
in the New World;, and Animals Robert
Scott Saw: An Adventure in Antarctica. Wondrous beasts peep from every
corner of this book’s cover, book jacket, and pages.

This book
also gently reminds readers that books become key partners in the enormous
adventure humans undertake when they realize they are not alone, and never have
been alone on their spinning planet. The text explains:

“After
spending years traveling the world, Marco told people about his adventures. His
stories were written down, and they became the world’s very first travel guide.
What is today called The Travels of Marco
Polo describes his travels to Mongolia and the Far East, a part of the
world that includes China, Japan, Thailand, and the other countries of East
Asia.”

Adults may
equally grin with surprise as they recollect that explorers were circling the
globe centuries before satellites continued their mission. Illustrations
include Marco leaning over his father’s shoulder as they study maps filled with
mystery. Immediately, the text adds boxed explanations of silk production,
starting with particular moth caterpillars, the unwinding of the moth’s cocoon,
and the moths’ contribution to a single yard of shiny fabric.

Animals Marco Polo Saw includes notes on skill sets and key
concepts built into the series. It also demonstrates that one book leads to
another—in this case, The Description of
the World, by a later associate of the first author. Its exquisite planning
concludes with a Map of Marco Polo’s Travels, which thus places the reader in
the exact position of the boy once looking over his father’s shoulder at
mystery which became reality both for him and his awed descendants.

To list this
series’ virtues fully would require a book filled with wonder, too. Let young
readers begin this project as soon as possible. Their stories of their very own
beasts may delight relatives, friends, and teachers alike. And nobody will have
to ask them to draw pictures after seeing this series. They may just walk out
in the morning, look up, and see the creatures which, a millennium from now,
will become participants in volumes they can’t help composing.

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

For fans of
Ann Rice’s vampire novels, Ellen Schreiber’s Love Bites may be lightweight, but for teenagers yearning for BFs,
it may be just right. The high school heroine obsesses over her best friends,
repeating that word at least once on every page. The vampire hero proves his
honorable intentions by NEVER biting the heroine, in spite of the title.

That is not
to say that risky behavior receives no attention here. The hero’s BF shows up
uninvited, and he falls in love with the BF’s BF, so vampires share adolescents’
fixations, at least in this book. The battle for individuality and creativity
against mundane conformity draws together the least and most popular residents
of middle America here, for consideration by all.

This novel
may make readers wonder if the term “vampire” does not just serve as a cover
for artists like the hero, as well as their admirers, like the heroine. The
battle for artistic integrity enjoys a long and distinguished history in
American literature, with ripe testimony by Ernest Hemingway, among others. As
technology replaces hand work, this battle intensifies.

Love Bites amply illustrates that those seeking
popularity above all may have their work cut out for them when confronting
individuals with vampires’ determination to go for blood. The trappings of the
vampire genre, including deteriorating mansions, wine cellars, garlic, and
coffins for sleeping and retreat, will make every vampire fan feel right at
home.

The idea that
vampires have standards, and those standards may exceed the obsessions of
community creeps’, will also appeal to idealists of every stripe. The novel’s
characters prove both likable and recognizable. Ellen Schreiber does not hype
confrontation; she seeks resolution of social conflicts, and, for that ideal,
she, too, deserves encouragement and praise.

The
competition for this award is fierce, but the winner is the current
advertisement for KFC’s Festive Feast, a large bucket of fried chicken, which
the ad demonstrates will rescue men from the stupid chatter of women and
children throughout the holidays.

The film
shows women shrieking and hooting with laughter, as if that act, all by itself,
was the most annoying behavior in the world, not counting mass murders in
Syria, as well as genocides around the globe. This ad makes the assumption that
Daddy, not Mommy, will stop for fried chicken on the way home from work, so they can
silence anything they don’t want to hear at home.

Note: Any
adult who expects people in general to say only what s/he wants to hear needs
serious help, and s/he won’t find it at home from people whose lives are just as
complicated as the food provider’s. That same individual won’t find that
surcease from talk at work, either, where communication is the ORDER of each
and every day.

The second episode
in the film shows children yakking up a storm, too, as they compete with claims
of “You did! I didn’t!” as siblings, cousins, and visitors at the holidays
inevitably will. In both cases, the man in the middle of the dialogue shuts up
the talkers with portions of fried chicken, which, last this writer knew, were
NOT on Michelle Obama’s list of preferred cuisine.

So, if you
support overfed, stifled families, whose men would rather do anything in the
world rather than share conversation with them, you will find this
advertisement a guide to happy family life. But, if you hope that men and women
will both talk to each other, as well as their kids, who may turn into druggies
while waiting for words of wisdom, then get a salad instead.

Everybody in the
grouping can add his/her/their favorite ingredients, instead of griping: Why do
adults always expect us to talk to them when they won’t—come hell or high water—talk
to us?

Monday, December 10, 2012

If Christmas
trees become an expensive, gaudy nuisance, here’s a way to make them come alive
again, especially for children. Begin with a trip to a Christmas tree farm, if
possible. Take the whole family to participate in the choice, which rarely can
be too big, full, or beautiful.

Be sure to
place the tree in water the minute you arrive home. Leave it in water for at
least 24 hours so it doesn’t drop its needles while you decorate. Always keep
that tree well-watered, as a precaution against fires. Be extremely cautious with
all electrical lights and candles as well.

Now, this
step can begin at any time during the holiday season. Prepare gingerbread and/or
sugar cookie dough for your main rolled tree decorations. Choose the most primitive or
exotic cutters for different effects, creating cookie boys, girls, camels, angels,
bells, fish, birds, chickens, sheep, and bunnies. Don’t forget the tiniest
gingerbread houses to hang from the tree, too.

You color scheme
determines which color frostings you make to dress your doll cookies. Create a
toss-up effect with as many colors as possible, or limit cookies to dressings
in white, red, and green to go completely traditional. Possibilities are as
limited as your imagination. Jamie Foxx can have a black Christmas tree, if he
wishes. No one can tell him otherwise when he makes it himself.

The next step
in color choices involves colored sugar to pour on the frosting. This ingredient
also comes in red-green-blue in the baking aisle of the local supermarket. Other
sugar decorations create tiny silver balls, red and green rolls, donut toppings
of all kinds, chocolate chips, chocolate kisses, licorice, cinnamon red hots, and
bits and pieces to make cookie faces pop.

Wait for the
frosting to set. Then, assemble a darning needle and heavy duty thread. Again,
when you do It yourself, all the choices are yours. Do you want to string your
cookies in dancing rows to circle the tree? Do you want to do onesies or
twosies? Your decisions may emerge as the tree gradually lowers its branches
and relaxes, having come in from the cold.

Finally, you
can add as many toys and as much candy as you wish to complete your tree
decorating scheme. Candy canes are perfect because they come with natural
hooks. Popcorn is also perfect in strings, colored or au natural. Create double
strings of any item you choose, including cranberries. You can store these
decorations in plastic bags, or create a new tree every year.

Economy is
one reason to begin this cookie tree tradition, but creativity is the best
reason of all. Children can develop a variety of skills as they assist parents
with this production. These include rolling dough, cutting patterns, teaming,
and sewing with a darning needle, which is as important for homemakers as it is
for surgeons. Repeat as often as needed, and enjoy!

Dr. Meg: Question 1: Is this why the public distrusts
the press now? The more pictures accumulate in the digital media, the more
likely readers may develop immunity to the common belief that a picture is
worth a thousand words. Overdose just may constitute the cure.

Psychology
Today: Tip 2: Multiple statements by the same eyewitness may also reduce
disbelief, according to a study in Acta Psychologica.

Dr. Meg:
Question 2: Is this why both the press and politicians bore us to death with
talking points? Once we’re on to them, maybe it’s time to schedule unrehearsed
appearances, and let the cameras roll while they stammer in the face of confusion,
which doesn’t all belong to them.

Psychology
Today: Tip 3: Partial understanding of a statement leads to the assumption that
understanding is complete, according to “You Can’t Not Believe Everything You
Read,” a study prepared by psychologist Daniel Gilbert and co-authors, who warn
against rushing and fatigue.

Dr. Meg:
Question 3: If speakers who repeat themselves practice an advantage over
listeners, why not do them one or two better, and read written transcripts of
their speeches multiple times, once for content, twice for strategy, and thrice
for implications?

Dr. Meg: Conclusion:
Does this Tip Sheet sound like an election guide OR WHAT? Well, we’ve got time
to practice up, and then see who’s learned more since the last bafflement—and who’s
gotten trickier in the times between one merry-go-round and the next.

Has a Gothic
character ever touched America’s heart like Abby Sciuto? Yes, she uses the
short form of the adjective, a bow to current English usage, but this female
leads in popularity because she comes directly from the Middle Ages. Her
respect for mortality heads the parade of traits identified with that time
misnamed The Dark Ages. Was the screen ever dark when Abby appeared? Hardly.

Her mastery
of forensic science perfectly parallels the attention that medieval people gave
to magic, beginning with turning lead into gold—and any script writer can count
on Pauley Perrette, who plays Abby to a P, to charm her way around heavy verbiage
with light humor. Her fondness for music also demonstrates how close her
alliance is to the Middle Ages. What would a cathedral be without Gregorian
chant?

But her
costumes seal the deal for this medieval creation. Her braids become a peaked hood,
swaying rhythmically around her cherubic smile. Her bangs lead the viewer
immediately to her eyes, which snap with mischief, like a leprechaun’s, troll’s,
or elf’s. If Gibbs didn’t have Abby to play his Tinker Bell, what would he do
with his morbid self? Every skull she wears turns into a design, signaling the
Gothic period’s profound inspiration from glorious Art.

Her respect
for the human body verges on that attitude which considers it a temple. Her
perfectionism when handling its remains defies the seamy side of life. Her positive
spirit speaks for the best of rituals which transform the darkest moments into
life-affirming exercises. She doesn’t need to roller skate, although she
sometimes does. Her blithe spirit protects her from excess gravity, ill befitting
a woman who recalls the excitement of that moment—

that moment
when a little girl heads for a Medieval Fair. Abby’s is underground, but so
what? She’ll bring all her candles and icons, if needed, just to celebrate life
gone merry. We’re alive. Isn’t that always, always more than enough? Hang
around long enough, and the discoveries always turn up. It’s just one miracle
after another in the Middle Ages with the Abbess Abby.

Sunday, December 9, 2012

When Clint
Eastwood performed his minimalist stage play with a chair one month ago, he
anticipated my recent experience engaging in a self and soul dialogue. An
entire audience should have shared my existential moment. It was a perfect set
for a grand soliloquy, a monologue maybe, or even a freak-out call to 9-1-1.

Unfortunately,
I had left my cell phone in my apartment, behind the glass door, with the dog,
the cats, and my answering machine, which wouldn’t have been picking up unless
one of my talented cats was answering. So, I considered my alternatives under
that squeamish circumstance:

I could take out a rope ladder, and haul myself over
the ledge.

I could haul myself over the ledge, risking broken
bones when I landed not so lightly

I could attract a passerby to rescue me from my
accumulating stupidity.

I could knock on the walls between the apartments,
hoping somebody would hear me.

I could scream my lungs out.

After a long,
thoughtful meditation on my dilemma, I discarded choice 1. I have never
possessed a rope ladder. Next, I really considered choice 2 because I could
already see myself finding just the right positions for my feet and leveraging
my body over the top and, then, skimming the building like Spider Girl, if
there was one, but there wasn’t.

So, I chose
Number 3. Unfortunately, a passerby saw me waving blithely from my shivering
isolation, and he turned into our parking lot, too. But then, for reasons which
will always remain unknown to me, that smiling biker waved—and kept right on
going. Is that what you would do, if you had a chance to rescue a girl from a
balcony? Shakespeare wouldn’t. I’m sure of that.

Since 15 or
20 minutes had now elapsed—it’s hard to keep track when you’ve forgotten your
watch, too, and your cell phone’s gone missing, and the temperature is falling
to somewhere south of 43 degrees!—I came to choice 5, not with any particular
wisdom, but because that was the only alternative left. So, some squeaky voice
that could not be mine called out, “HeLLO!”

I repeated
that brilliant greeting for 10 minutes or so. Then, just when I thought I
really was about to go over the ledge head first, because what other choice did
I have, I heard the loveliest sound in the world: “Meg, is that you?” I
admitted that I was the idiot screaming at the top of her lungs for reasons
involving animals and doors and locks and missing keys and, mostly, just me.

A marvelous
neighbor had heard my unconscionable screaming, and concluded that maybe a
human being was at a loss to know how to descend from a balcony without ending
up in mid-air, or worse yet, how to get down without landing on her elbow, knee,
or upside down head. Can you imagine? She’d heard my dog first.

He wouldn’t
give up on me. Neither would she.

After another
series of choices—call maintenance, find keys, get inside the apartment in
spite of the dog who never would shut up until his owner was where she belonged—we
rounded up those elements in order, and I entered my apartment again, but only
with her assistance. The dog immediately expected extra treats. My neighbor
expected nothing. She receives my eternal gratitude.

For the
details of international intrigue—and security nightmares—who compares with
David Baldacci? This time he conjures a plot wrapped up in a basketball planted
under a tree. If readers start to question what basketballs have to do with landscaping,
they’re right on mission with the hero of Hell’s
Corner, who happens to work the most famous real estate in the world.

Baldacci’s
audience may never see DC the same way again. The simplest tasks become mysterious
when they happen in Lafayette Park, across from the White House. The author’s
hero comes to his assignment with a long history of conflict between patriotism
and loyalty. On his mission to clear his name, he signs on for one last chance
to prove his skills haven’t faltered.

The task of
Olive Stone, then, is to start out like Prince Hamlet—in the middle of
everything—and come out like King Hamlet, minus the dead bodies, including his
own. Is he, or is he not, the lone man who can solve a really stupid puzzle?
When an explosion occurs with no reasonable objective, he becomes intrigued.
When basketballs hide bombs, it’s no time for athletics.

Or is it? Nothing
can happen in Lafayette Park, aka Hell’s Corner, without international
ramifications. His new alliances involve a British agent who also attempts to
avert an unidentified tragedy—when more than basketballs and trees go flying in
hell. Stone enlists the assistance, too, of former colleagues whose new loyalties
may always remain uncertain.

The test at
every turn for Baldacci’s hero remains: As time unrolls, do we remain the
people we recognize in the mirror or across the street? When landscapers turn
up, why do they have basketballs up their sleeve or on their brain? Who in his
right mind would hide a bomb in a basketball, anyway? The history of Hell’s
Corner comes down to one man and a clump of earth.

Along the
way, Baldacci teaches his readers more than they ever guessed about American
real estate. Although the US capital seems etched in stone, its stability can
change with a single blast. “The place had changed dramatically,” Baldacci
writes in Chapter 3, “since Stone first planted his sign in the ground, the one
that read I Want TheTruth.”

His other
novels include Absolute Power, Total Control, The Simple Truth and The Whole
Truth. So his quest continues, and his major theme remains consistent.
Readers of those novels will realize, however, that, for Baldacci, the truth is
rarely simple, and perception management means that the simplest way to destroy
the truth is to bury it under tons of garbage.

Carla Neggers
can teach you the essentials of successful romance writing. The formula for Captivated, whirls like a waltz: 1-2-3:

One, begin
with a conflicted heroine,

Two, locate an
intense hero, and

Three, let
the plot throw them together.

Neggers does
not succeed as a genre writer, though, by concentrating just on what is
commonly called “chick lit.” Her bio inside the back cover of Captivated reveals:

“She now has
more than fifty books to her credit—ten of them New York Times bestsellers—and has earned raves from critics and
readers alike for her unique blend of fast-paced action, suspense and romance.”

Neggers
accomplishes this publishing miracle by letting her heroine act out her
psychological conflict. As her heroine chases after her hero, while
simultaneously trying to avoid his attention, she admits on page 82:

“Certain
she had her infatuation with Richard under control, Sheridan drove out across the Golden Gate Bridge to talk to him at his
yacht, where, she assumed, he’d spent the night. But he hadn’t….”

Even this
small passage reveals that the stars in her integrated
adventure-suspense-romance have begun a pas de deux, a dance for two, where
each circles the other, and the two act in concert because, in reality, they
already function as one whole, a distinctive pair.

Setting money
aside, and there’s a lot of it to set aside, of course, they perform that
psychological classic: “Go away, I love you. Come here, I hate you.” Such songs
resonate with every American music lover, male or female. Another favorite is “I
Won’t Dance. Don’t Ask Me.”

But dance they
do, for this is the pattern of opposites which attract, starting with the most
famous opposites, the male and female of the human species. All the elements of
Fifty Shadesof Grey can be found in Captivated—except
pain and a secret room and a contract for slavery.

This year’s
holiday centerpiece sits on a table, waiting for the cat attack. This tree’s
two feet tall; so are the cats, lying down. A revolving disco light sits beside
the tree, to segregate temptations. Only one kind of ornament graces the green
branches: miniature nutcrackers. If they can’t take care of themselves, we’ll
have to research the ballet again.

Previous
Christmas decorations included the Red Cardinal tree. Its only ornaments came
from a local flower shop, which had dismissed its population of red birds,
graced with real feathers. These birds had to be smuggled onto the tree in the
middle of the night, since my cats respond primarily to movement, not color or
sentiment, although they do favor dancing mice.

So, here are rules
I’ve created to get through the holidays with cats, trees, and sanity intact:

1.
Keep
the scheme simple.

2.
Forgo
round shiny bulbs; they’ll be the first to be

stolen.

3.
Keep
the schedule of a cat burglar, setting up

decorations after midnight.

4.
If
cats find boxes lying around, they’ll get the

ornaments before they make it to
the tree.

5.
But
if cats discover a tree already decorated, they may

mistake it for furniture.

Felines are
due this acknowledgement: The same temperament and instincts which lead them to
investigate Christmas trees like squirrels’ nests, also lead them into corners
where spiders hide. The same sense of smell which goes after cookies and
popcorn will hunt down socks, too. So keep guests’ feet in their socks.
Otherwise, they may leave your home without them.

Never leave
anything in plain sight which cats might be tempted to hunt and eat. A very
long list of cats’ favorite goodies includes eyeglasses, birth control devices,
watches, bracelets, rings, pens, pencils, hats, coats (for making into
mattresses), fur and tails of any kind whatsoever. So place a tree up somewhere
if possible. That way, cats at least have to lose weight as they go after it.

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About Me

The author leads a quadruple life as a creative writer, journalist, medievalist, and artist. From Western New York, she gained insights into wildlife and spiritualism. In Appalachia, she learned to love America's oldest mountains. She has settled happily, with a tuxedo cat named Chopin and a Basset Hound named Mickey Mantle, in Dunkirk, New York.